


not quite a crown prince

by starblessed



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: F/M, Family Feels, Future Fic, Gen, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Plans For The Future, maria really likes dmitry she just knows better than to show it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 07:39:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14184132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/starblessed
Summary: Dmitry and the Dowager Empress have a conversation, and learn more about each other in the process.Dmitry never thought he’d find himself relating to an elderly former-Empress, but, well, here he is. (That can be said about a lot of his life lately.)





	not quite a crown prince

Having spent the majority of his life growing up in the rough slums of Petersburg, Dmitry can proudly declare that there isn’t much capable of scaring him.

He knows enough about the world to understand that anything that wants to be dangerous puts in the extra effort to look intimidating. If someone has to try, they’re probably not a threat. That makes them brash, overconfident, and easy to outsmart. If Dmitry can’t talk circles around thugs and bandits, he can fight his way out. Even the Bolshevik guards on Petersburg streets, with their sleek uniforms and muskets, spared no effort to intimidate. They could end his life with the pull of a trigger, sure, but they were nothing to be afraid of. They were no better than everything else in the newly-minted _Leningrad._ They were part of the city itself, and Dmitry feared nothing in his own city.

He knows better than to be frightened by a scary face in the dark. The true dangerous things — the ones that you really have to be wary of — don’t need to look dangerous at all. They simply are.

Maria Feodorovna, deposed Dowager Empress, firmer Tsarina of all of Russia, does not look dangerous.

She is a diminutive figure, small and frail boned. Her eyes are set deep into her lined face; her teeth have grown yellowed and uneasy in their places with age. The Dowager Empress is built like the starving puppies Dmitry used to see begging for scraps on the streets, before they one day inevitably vanished. (Even lean, mangy meat is better than no meat at all.)

He could never imagine the Dowager Empress begging for anything, of course. It’s a metaphor. He’s not great with metaphors.

He also isn’t great with royalty, but he’s known that for a while. (His first ever encounter with a royal featured him screaming her name and running after a moving vehicle; his second encounter saw him almost kiss the princess he just won back; in his third encounter, he insulted the Dowager Empress, and stomped on her dress for good measure.)

No, Dmitry does not endear himself to royalty.

Anya insists that her grandmother likes him, for reasons Dmitry can’t understand. He doesn’t see it. For the life of him, he’s positive the old lady hates him, but that might have to do with the fact that she seems to hate everyone.

(“Not seems to,” Lily declared, when he made the mistake of saying this out loud. “She does. The furthest she goes is tolerance, and that’s a very high bar to reach. There are days she doesn’t tolerate _me.”_

She tilted her head then, and a strange half-smile appeared on her lips. It made Dmitry uncomfortable. “There’s just one person she loves,” she told him. “Then again… she tolerates you too, some of the time.”

Dmitry had no idea what _that_ meant, and would rather not think too hard about it.)

He’s more than grateful that Anya’s found her family again — even if it did take some trial-and-error to get there. The Dowager Empress’s visits to their little apartment have become a several-time-a-week thing, and Dmitry… could be happier. Really. Anya is happy, and that’s what matters most.

Except he’s not entirely sure that the old lady has forgiven him for the spectacle he made on the night they met; so, while common sense tells him she doesn’t still have the power to send him off to Siberia, tea with Nonna isn’t his favorite way to spend an afternoon.

He never thought he’d be put in a situation like this.

When they ran out of sugar, Anya looked so annoyed that Dmitry thought she might take a swing at the nearest table lamp. Instead, all she did was jump to her feet, throw her coat over her shoulders, and declare that she would be back in ten minutes, with more sugar and something to snack on.

Just like that, she was gone. Dmitry and the Dowager Empress were left alone.

He knows how hard Anya tries to make a good impression on her grandmother, but they should have checked their sugar stock beforehand. That would have avoided the “catastrophe”, and maybe even… well, avoided this.

Dmitry looks up from the magazine in his lap (something about bridal arrangements, he’s never read this in his life, he’s not even sure why they _have_ it), to find a sharp imperial gaze fixed on him. He swallows hard, and turns back to reading.

He had to jump on her dress. It worked _at the time,_ but he just had to cross _that_ line, didn’t he?

When the Dowager Empress clears her throat, Dmitry’s heart has a small seizure. The magazine almost slips from his lap. He fumbles to steady it, crinkling the pages in the process.

When he looks back up, the old woman is eyeing him, unimpressed. Her gaze darts from the magazine and then back to him. When she speaks, her voice is like crumbling concrete. “Bridal bouquets,” she observes. “Are the two of you making plans to be married?”

For one panicked moment, Dmitry has no earthly clue what she’s talking about. Then he looks down at the magazine, and it all becomes clear. It’s the wedding edition of some florist’s magazine. He didn’t even know they had this; he’s never seen it in his life, and has no clue why it’s in their house. (Anya _better_ not be trying to drop hints, because they’re soaring over his head.)

“Whoa — _no!_ No way. I mean, we don’t have any plans to get married… now.”

“So,” the old lady says, eyes narrowing like a hawk, “you’re living together out of wedlock.”

Dmitry’s heart plummets to his toes at the same time his stomach leaps into his throat.

(Because being disapproved of by the Dowager Empress is one thing; being disapproved of by Anya’s only surviving family is so much worse.)

“I mean — I —“ He chokes on his words. Dmitry has always been a gifted liar, but in the face of this woman, his silver tongue fails him. How did so many girls look her in the eye and swear to be her long lost granddaughter? Maybe _this_ is why all their schemes fell apart so fast. Lying to Maria Feodorovna is like lying to the glint of a sword’s blade.

He swallows hard, and feels his last excuse abandon him. “We just… haven’t talked about it,” he admits at last, feeling as lame as he sounds. “I don’t know how Any– Anastasia feels. It’s still sort of early for all that.”

“Early?” The Dowager Empress waves her hands in disbelief. “Anastasia is twenty-five years old. It is certainly not too _early.”_

“Early for us, I mean. We haven’t… thought that far ahead yet.”

Even as the words leave his lips, he can tell he sounds like a fool. This is the last impression he wants Anya’s grandmother to have. God forbid she think him a good-for-nothing, some sort of scoundrel who will leave Anya in the dust the moment he grows bored of her. He would never do that; he could not dream of it. He wouldn’t be complete without Anya by his side.

They haven’t had time to think of marriage, with the whirlwinds that their lives have been recently. They had to find a comfortable flat on the edge of Paris, in a sweet little neighborhood, where they were out of the public eye but still close enough to visit Anya’s grandmother whenever she wanted. Dmitry and Anya both had to find work; Dmitry took a job as a bricklayer for a construction firm, and since Anya _insisted_ she work as well, she took a job at the local library, reading stories to children. It’s a far cry from the backbreaking work of a street sweeper, but Anya’s got a gift for performance, and she adores reading anything she can get her hands on. Dmitry hasn’t seen her this happy… ever. Even if he’s constantly covered in plaster and tripping over library books, seeing Anya blossom in her new life makes it all worth it.

Marriage hasn’t even come on the table. They’re both just trying to find their places in the life they’re building. Something as definite as marriage… no, that has to come later.

But the unimpressed look on the Dowager Empress’s face has him suddenly feeling like the world’s greatest slacker. The royal family, after all, is a different breed; they have traditions dating back centuries, and marrying off their princesses is one of them. How easily could the Dowager Empress have arranged for Anya to marry some Grand Duke? (The way her glare bores into him now, he has little doubt that she’d like to.)

It’s the thought of Anya married off to another man that really sets Dmitry on the defensive. He can’t stand the idea of the woman he loves pushed into a marriage with someone else. It’s the way things ought to have turned out, would have turned out for all of the Grand Duchesses, had their lives gone as planned.

Instead, fate intervened; and fate brought Anya and Dmitry together, then and now. Who is the Dowager Empress to scorn that?

“Look, we’re just – happy, alright? We’re both so happy right now. I’ve never seen Anya this happy, and I’m not about to ruin it by jumping into something we’re not ready for! Would I like to marry her? Of course! Some day, if she’s willing, it will happen – but that day isn’t today. We’re still trying to put the past behind us, and build a present for ourselves. The future can wait.”

He breaks off, eyes burning into the Dowager Empress’s with equal ferociousness. He registers the slight shock on the lady’s face (she’s still not used to being spoken to so abruptly, but Dmitry’s can’t seem to help it); but she doesn’t flinch, and she doesn’t look away. He can not read the thoughts running behind those icy eyes.

“The future will not wait forever,” is all she says; and then she leans back.

Dmitry takes a deep breath to calm himself _(think of Siberia,_ he reminds himself, _think of Siberia)._ He opens his mouth to speak again, but the old woman beats him to it.

“You place Anastasia’s happiness above anything else,” she says, slow and steady. “This is the reason I approve of you. I doubt that any other man would be as considerate… or as bullheaded. Whatever the consequences may be, you are willing to put yourself on the line for her.”

Dmitry’s mouth drops open. It takes him a moment to process the rest of her words, because his brain is stuck on that one unbelievable sentence. She _approves of him?_

“I –” he begins, and cuts himself off. He can’t think of a single word. He is speechless in front of the Dowager Empress for the second time today, but for a completely different reason.

At last, he’s able to swallow his disbelief, and nod. “I’d do anything for her.”

The Dowager Empress smiles. “You already have.”

She reaches out and takes his hand. Dmitry is too stunned to pull away. It is the warmest gesture he has ever received from her – but, in this moment, he peers through the hard shell of loss and bitterness, and glimpses a woman he has never met before. Somewhere, past the bitter shell that age and loss has inflicted upon her, the Empress who was once renowned for her gentility still lives. Her hand is worn and fragile within his, but there is still strength in her grip.

“You will take care of her,” she says. It is not a request; there is no room for discussion. “You will look after her for as long as the two of you are united. And, knowing my Anastasia, she will do the same for you.”

She smiles at him. It is a close-lipped, definite thing; as if she is seeing ahead into a future Dmitry cannot even imagine yet. He swallows hard. “And you will be happy.”

“Yes,” he says, and somehow manages to catch his breath. “Yes, thank you — Your Majesty.”

When he lowers his head, he refuses to consider it a bow; but maybe it’s close enough, and maybe he’s okay with that. (He swore he would never bow to anyone except one person, but how many times has Anya insisted that she and her grandmother are alike? Not for the first time, Dmitry can see it.)

The moment is shattered when the door opens with a slam that rattles the apartment — they need to get the hinges tightened before Anya manages to put a hole in the wall. The Dowager Empress’s hand pulls back, as quickly as if it were never there. Dmitry is left shellshocked as Anya breezes into the room.

“So, I found sugar, and I also ducked into that tiny bakery across the street, and turns out they make _zefir!_ I never would have thought, but they all looked so good, so I bought a bunch —“ She sets the bakery box on the table and blinks between Dmitry and he grandmother. Something in their expressions must strike her. “Am I interrupting something?”

The Dowager Empress leans back. “Of course not, dear. Not at all.”

Anya smiles, and plunks herself down on the couch next to Dmitry. Soon enough, her chatter returns the atmosphere of comfort to the room; it is almost easy for Dmitry to calm his pounding heart, and sort through the whirlwind inside his head.

When Anya is bent over her pastries, the Dowager Empress catches his eye, and winks.


End file.
